


Evermore

by kauliberry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grief, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Kidnapping, Non-Linear Narrative, Occlumency, Ravenclaw Reader, Seer!Reader, Slow Burn, Torture, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29214171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kauliberry/pseuds/kauliberry
Summary: "It's the one vision you keep away from the others: the ones who hold you, prisoner. Maybe you do it for your protection. Because you already know how this ends. Maybe you hide the truth for someone else's safety--for his safety."Theo x reader that takes place during the 8th year. A non-linear timeline including flashbacks and flashforwards.
Relationships: Theodore Nott/Reader
Kudos: 12





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read my other stories, then you know I tend to favor romantic comedy settings. This is a warning: this isn't a romantic comedy. This is a slow burn, enemies to lovers, dark fic.
> 
> This fic will include heavy emotional trauma, mental illness, violence, torture, explicit sexual content, and threats of non-con. If any of these warnings are not for you, then please do not read. You are responsible for your own media consumption.
> 
> Another thing to notice: this fic is not linear when it comes to the timeline. There will be specific things that you, as the reader, do not know about until certain parts. So, if you're confused about certain plot points, don't be. You will find out eventually.
> 
> Outside of my own original, the characters in this fic belong to JK Rowling under the Harry Potter series.

Sometimes the quiet is violent, but then there's noise, and your throat feels heavy with a burning sensation. It's hard to decide if you prefer the screams or the silence. But then you see your future. Every time you see him. Every scowl, every tear shed, every moment spent in the dark when you close your eyes. You look through another eye when you see it. It's his future too.

Happiness is a forgotten emotion these days. But in those visions, you find it once more. It's a bitter reality you have yet to face. One not yet understood. 

It's the one vision you keep away from the others: the ones who hold you, prisoner. Maybe you do it for your protection. Because you already know how this ends. Maybe you hide the truth for someone else's safety—for his safety.

Every time your eyes meet his, it's the same flashes of happiness and hope. Even when he's at the other end of the wand that makes you scream, it's all the same.

It begins in a fire with two sole survivors lost in this world but found in one another. Always two. Always together.


	2. ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Evermore! I have about seven chapters outlined so far, the total chapter count will probably be closer to 15-20. I will try to update weekly but it will more than likely end up being a biweekly update as these chapters are about 4k-5k words in length and because it's non-linear I need to make sure the timeline doesn't have plot holes!
> 
> In regards to a fan cast for Theo, I haven't cast anyone. Feel free to imagine whoever you would like.
> 
> I will be describing other characters though based on their appearance in the books versus the movies.
> 
> I would love to hear your questions, speculations, feedback!

**1998 September**

You sat alone in the compartment, the train’s whistle sounded, and the chugging of the engines pulled the train forward. The September air was warm, and King’s Cross bustled with Muggles, witches, and wizards alike. You hadn’t been back to Hogwarts since your sixth year, given the events of the war you were—what was it the Head Mistress had said? Oh, you were _indisposed_. Unable to attend your final year given your whereabouts. She said it with pity, almost like it was a choice. Like you had a choice to break bread with monsters. She offered you and the indisposed others a second chance to return to Hogwarts and finish your education during the war. Some students were held back a year and allowed to redo the previous year entirely from what you understood. Others moved on, but some students were still behind in their studies, given that NEWTs weren’t administered. 

There was a lot of debate in the papers when your story was leaked. You supposed it was hard to hide a rather large fire and an even more enormous death toll. It was even harder to hide an arrest and charges brought forward. Only a few knew the truth—the other survivor and the Wizengamot. Although, some people knew bits and pieces of information. 

You were just a bird trapped in a cage, forced to sing of the future. Fate it may have been, but you were not there by choice. You and fate had a complicated relationship, to put it plainly. 

On the platform, heads turned when you walked by. Other than your required appearances at the Wizengamot, you hadn’t been seen often by the public. You preferred to stay inside; something about last year’s trauma had made you anxious to leave most days during the summer. Some people saw you as something you would never call yourself. They looked at you like a warrior, like someone who should be honored—a hero. No, you did what you had to do. It was survival. You were a survivor, and you lived. Yet, you ask yourself the question your mandatory mind healer asked: What does surviving mean to you? You still hadn’t found the answer. Wasn’t surviving enough? 

There were a few people, though, who turned their heads when you passed. They would scowl. A high death count wasn’t something most teenagers were put on trial for. Let alone ‘aiding and abetting’ the same monsters that were killed at your hand. Even if the charges were immediately dropped after memories were submitted, the press had already caught wind of your impending charges and trial. A trial that never happened caused more people to raise their brows, especially after refusing interviews with the press. They were persistent. 

Your appearance at one trial was required. It was _his_ trial—the other survivor of that fire. More memories were taken, and questions were asked. You’re still not sure if you would’ve gone if it wasn’t mandatory. It caused too much pain to see him. No, you recant that thought. You would’ve been a witness regardless. It was your fate; it was his fate. After all, he wasn’t there by choice either. His cage was just prettier than yours, even if it was just as deadly.

The blue tie around your neck was too tight then. It felt like another chain that was weighing you down. Your other restraints were invisible to the naked eye. Your mind was your biggest tormentor. It’s restricting to sit on the train and act like everything is “perfectly normal.” Mostly when it wasn’t. Your hands found the tie and loosened it so you could breathe. Several seconds passed, maybe even a few minutes, you’re not sure. You had closed your eyes, counting while you breathe. 

Some days were better. Today was supposed to be one of those, but you knew better than to expect anything less than bad days.

Your eyes found the window as you looked out at the Scottish Highlands as the hills and trees rolled in waves of greens. It was a beautiful view, one you could appreciate. It was meaningful to look out that window now. Even if you were alone right now, you knew others would be looking out their windows. Some may have been anxious to return, good or bad. It would be good for the return of normalcy. Bad for the questions plaguing your mind.

Would new ghosts be haunting those grounds? Familiar faces from your years there but cool to the touch and a pale shimmering hue encapsulating their bodies now? Would there be holes in the castle wall? Some pieces of stone missing, left behind, and overlooked during reconstruction? Maybe a spot of blood on the grounds? 

A cold shiver went through your body at the thoughts before you remembered _why_ you were grateful to look at the view before you. You lived, survived, and, more importantly—you were free. Some days you would get trapped in your mind, reliving the worst moments and other times seeing the visions. Dreams plagued you and were even harder to decipher reality from illusion. Sleep wasn’t something you welcomed. Instead, you found solace in books. You stayed in the comfortable setting of the early mornings of twilight ending, a tomb in hand, and your breath fluttering pages of the books, breathing in the scent of parchment and ink like a drug. 

The thought of the library made you stir in anticipation in your seat. You wondered what new books were added for the school year. Your hands itched in anticipation to hold the tombs and divulge into a world more straightforward and more comfortable than your own. Where everything was black white, and there was always a happy ending. Even grey characters were outlined and evaluated. Their character developed. As much as you liked the contrast, you still found yourself drawn to the grey.

A shelf rattled, and a book opened. _Old parchment, lemon, nutmeg, and amber with the slightest hint of grapefruit._ The book closed, the shelf stilled.

Books were an easy escape, finding a corner table in the library hidden away from prying eyes. You could escape, pretend you were somewhere else, sometimes you could even be someone else in these fictions. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely registered a knock at the compartment door—a plump witch with a bright smile pushing a trolley of sweets. You smiled in kind, forced and unnatural, before shaking your head and waving your hand in dismissal. The anxiety wrecking through you caused your stomach to turn into a fit of nausea. Even if the first feast of the year was one of your favorites, you knew you wouldn’t be able to eat tonight. Not for lack of trying; everything just tasted like ash in your mouth. Someone could place your favorite dish in front of you, and you would still turn away from it. 

A whistle from the train signaled its impending arrival as the castle came into view. Your breath got caught in your throat as you looked back out the window. The castle in the setting sun was painted in hues of gold and orange. Your stomach twisted in knots. Who would be there? Even given his probation status, you knew you would see him. Your paths would cross; fate had you linked to him. It was inevitable. You felt like you had no choice in your future now that the second option was gone. Just the one that laid before you in the path between the station and the castle. A journey was just beginning. 

_The first time the castle came into view, you were only eleven. Like the others, you were entranced by the glowing lights of the castle and the buzzing hum of magic swirling in the air. A soft smile on your lips. A shy greeting to a bushy-haired girl looking for a toad. A dark-haired girl with her twin, both were wearing a long braid behind their backs. The waters of the lake nearly black in the night, reflecting the austere castle. A magical hat sang a song—the same hat sorting you into your new family._

Life was easier then. You didn’t have the full visions you did now. It was only glimpses of it in sleep of the future. The craft was unknown and untrained until your third year. A secret kept from the others. 

Students began to bustle about the train’s hallways; you stood grabbing your bag before opening the door. Bumping into other students as you keep your face down, letting your hair fall around your shoulders to hide your face. You didn’t want the attention. Stepping onto the platform, you breathed in the cool air and the crisp scent of earth and smoke. You saw the first years gather bustling about to take the boats while the others waited for the carriages. 

You hung back, standing around the outskirts of the crowds. People gathered in groups, and you watched as holes began forming. Spots where students once stood laughing and hugging with their friends. They wouldn’t be returning. You’d known that for years that individual students would never be returning to complete their education. They wouldn’t return home either. They were simply gone from this world. 

Among the outskirts, your eyes found brown ones staring at you. Your eyebrows rose in acknowledgment before a vision swam into view.

_She was holding a child with grey eyes and chestnut curly hair. A soft cooing from the child as it pulls on its mother’s long curly hair—a smile on her lips as she kisses the child’s forehead._

You took a deep breath, visualizing the meadow in your mind. It was enough to stop the vision from continuing. It wasn’t one you’ve seen before; it was new. You always saw her with a red-haired child. You looked away from her, eyes settled on the ground. You didn’t like the gift. You’d done well to keep it hidden, but even then, there were people in this crowd of students that knew. You hadn’t seen them yet. You looked back to the carriages with your walls in place where students were loading their trunks and bustling into them. 

As your turn came to load into the carriage, the brown-eyed girl was standing next to you as well as a tall girl with long red hair billowing in the wind. You all stopped. You couldn’t hear either of their breathing; you couldn’t even listen to yourself. Your eyes were trained on the creature pulling the carriage. Its skeletal body was covered in dark leathery skin. Its bat-like wings came up only to curl along its sides and spine like a protective shield as it began pulling the carriages. How many other students saw them now? 

After climbing into the carriage, the two girls followed you. They sat on the opposite side, holding onto each other’s hands. You stared at their clasp hands. It must be nice not to be so alone. Suddenly a voice broke through the silence. 

“I believe you.” It came from the girl with dark rum-colored eyes. 

You looked up to her then, again, you raised your brows but this time in question. You used to sit at the same table as her sometimes in the library—neither speaking to each other. There was always a respectable silence between you. Your eyes drop down, staring at the crimson in her tie. 

She continued. “I’ve read the transcripts.”

“Most of it is redacted for a reason, Hermione.” You replied— not coldly— just matter of factly as your eyes stayed on the crimson and gold tie. 

“If it provides any solace, you’re not alone. If you ever need someone to hear that reason-“

“I’ll consider it.” You cut her off before turning your head to watch the dark shadows of the trees on the grounds, already feeling the exhaustion from a dismal day settling into your bones. You sighed before turning back to her. “Are Harry and Ron not coming back this year?” 

The red-head spoke up in response. “Auror training. Neville is with them too.”

You nod your head. “So, who’s left in our year that’s returning?”

“Dean Thomas, Bradley Mulligan, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Lily Moon, Eddie Carmichael-“ Hermione began listing those who were returning from your year to complete or redo their last year. Those that were “indisposed” during the war.

“Don’t forget _them_.” The youngest Weasley spoke, acid-laced venom in her tone. 

“Malfoy, Montague, Warrington, and Theodore… Nott.” The names left your lips, a slight hesitation on the last one.

“They’re calling it a probationary status for them. It’s a way for the Ministry to keep an eye on them instead of sending them to Azkaban. If they so much as hex another student, their status is revoked. They’re—well, I suppose the Ministry would send them to Azkaban.” The brunette witch spoke as if reciting from a textbook. She took a moment, looking at you like a puzzle before she said, “will you be alright? With Nott here?” 

**** _A cell. It was cold. There was a blanket in the corner. You wrapped it around yourself and leaned against the wall— eyes on the door. The door opened, and a man with a dark beard, peppered with grey hairs, sneered at you._

_“My son says you have the sight.” A burning pain followed his statement as the blanket fell from your shoulders and your body writhed against the cold stone of the floor._

The past caused a shiver to run down your side. You tried focusing on something else, but your gift didn’t let you see your future. Just other people’s, and if you were lucky, then you might be in the image. There was only one person you consistently saw yourself in their futures, but you didn’t want to focus on that one just yet. 

“I’ll be fine.” You replied after a beat and a shake of your head. You’d fight fate if you had to. It was your only choice. You’d be fine. 

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply. Slowly you counted your breaths. You imagined a meadow surrounded by a forest of pines and oak trees. The scent of nature surrounded you, and the warmth of the shining sun cast a shine across your mind. The light traveled and glittered across the swaying grass. There were no emotions or pain in this meadow—only peace and serenity. A bird swept across the treetops, singing its song of joy. It calmed you. At one end of the field sat a large home. It was familiar. It was large and had many rooms. Some rooms were locked, some were completely open. Some were easy to break into, while others were impossible. Each person had a room. One of the rooms was a library of prophecies. In this library, some books were recently opened, and others were covered with dust. Some were even chained and locked. You walked out of the room and locked the door behind you. 

The carriage came to a sudden stop. The gates came into view as the three of you departed. You deposited your trunks to be sent to your respective dormitories. Once in the Great Hall, you noticed both Ginny and Hermione come to a halt. Your steps cantered for a moment, looking at them. You shook your head and continued as you found your way to the Ravenclaw table. 

A witch with brown hair waved you over a small smile on her face. You sat on the bench, eyes taking in the Great Hall. As a first-year, you were once dazzled and amazed by the floating candles and night sky above you, the students laughing and smiling after being reunited after a long summer. First-year students hustled about and lined up to be sorted. It was once grand, but now you looked around, noticing the lack of familiar faces, and the familiar ones looked forced and gaunt stricken. Some were forcing smiles; the students from your year who returned smiled tightly between hugs while others stared around. No one was the same after the war. Not alone, you reminded yourself. But you couldn’t help but notice the empty seats at the Slytherin table. Few of them returned this year. You didn’t get a good look at those faces before the witch next to you brushed your arm.

Lisa, the brunette, was calling your name next to you, trying to gain your focus. You turned to her to hear what she was saying. “I’m glad you’re back; we are the only girls who came back this year from Ravenclaw.”

You nodded in acknowledgment, remaining quiet as you tested your Occlumency shields. You knew it would be a test, seeing so many faces. “How many of the boys returned from our house?”

She looked around the table a moment before she turned back to you. “I count four: Bradley, Eddie, Terry, and Anthony.” 

You nodded your head again. A girl with long stringy blonde hair took the empty seat across from you. It was where Padma usually sat. 

She smiled wistfully at the two of you, her eyes wide. “I do hope they have pudding.” She continued addressing you by your name. “I see you managed to get that nargle infestation taken care of. They were a terrible fright when we were visitors at the Nott estate.”

You couldn’t help it, your jaw dropped, and a slight huff of breath left your mouth. It was somewhere between a laugh and a frustrated groan. “Luna, don’t you think visitors is an odd term to use?” 

She smiled. “Well, I suppose you were more a guest than a visitor. I merely passed through.”

Students grew quiet as the Headmistress approached the podium and ushered in a new year of students. It was a relatively smaller class this year. You couldn’t help but notice less cheering from the Slytherin table as the hat began sorting students. As always, Gryffindor remained the rowdiest and loudest. After the final student was sorted into Hufflepuff and took their seat, the Headmistress started speaking again. 

Her speech was full of hope with prose and quotes of new beginnings. She spoke about second chances and the start of a new term. She honored those who fought and remembered those who lost their lives. Eventually, you zoned her out, and your head turned around the room, watching and observing in a quiet sense of calm.

A flash of curly brown hair at the Slytherin table caught your eyes, and a pale blond sat next to him. Your eyes narrowed in focus on the man with brown hair. His face turned away, giving you a look at his profile. His jaw, angular and sharp, clenched slightly. You noticed that his hair was longer than it used to be, the weight making the curls lay neatly on top of his head. Your eyes followed the slightest twitch in his pink lips and the grinding of his teeth as he flexed his jaw. 

Movement on his right from the blond made him look in the direction of your table. You followed his eyes as they danced across the faces of the other Ravenclaw students until finally, they landed on you. Dark blue eyes caught yours, and your breath got knocked out of your lungs. It’s not a glare, not even a twitch of his lips to signal the intention. It’s just there—a connection. The door rattled but remained locked—an icy glaze over your own eyes as you refused to break that contact. Stubborn pride or curiosity, you’re not sure. He’s an enigma. He’s like a puzzle that begs to be put together to reveal a bigger picture. Another movement to his side and his head dipped slowly, finally breaking eye contact as the blond whispered something to him. 

With the turn of his head, you saw it: the runes and numbers on his neck. It washes over you like a cold bucket of ice. As if the brand on his forearm wasn’t enough, he’s stuck with this one now too. A constant reminder of his misdeeds. Of all of their misdeeds. You hadn’t looked at him close enough during the trial, and somehow you must’ve missed it. You wonder if this school was his new prison. It used to feel like home to you. He once said it was the closest thing to a home he had, too. 

A round of applause brought you out of your reverie, and the feast commenced. Conversations bordered on politeness and remained on the contents of what a new year of classes would bring. Gossip indeed surrounded you, but those who sat closest to you at least had the decency not to let you overhear it. 

Maybe once, you would’ve felt hurt or even paranoid by the stares and whispers. But you don’t feel much these days. It’s like you’re just walking through life, numb to the pain and trauma that surrounded you. For now, you grasped onto the hope that one day it would be better. But hope wasn’t the same as having the drive to be better yourself. You were just trying to find a way to live in the aftermath. 

At last, the feast ended, and much to Luna’s delight, there was pudding.

You walked the route to Ravenclaw tower, the prefects leaving early to usher the new first years ahead. Lisa stuck to your side, but you found yourself lost in your thoughts once again as her conversation continued with another student from your year. Your eyes scanned the walls and portraits. It was strange; there wasn’t anything there. Nothing like you had expected on the train. There wasn’t a single trace of the deaths that haunted the castle. 

Murmuring toward the front caught your focus. Someone shouted from behind you, “what’s the riddle?”

Someone from the front reiterated it. “You have me today, tomorrow you'll have more. As your time passes, I'm not easy to store. I don't take up space, but I'm only in one place. I am what you saw, but not what you see. What am I?”

‘ _Memories, how_ _ironic_ ,’ you thought to yourself.

The door opened, and a flood of students followed. You swept past the people in the common room, not bothering to look around, heading straight to the stairs leading to the girl’s side. 

The dorm room had two beds. It was just you and Lisa in the room. Sapphire canopies surrounded the beds. The fabric shimmered when the lights from the sconces flickered with the wave of your wand. It was different from the last dorm room you shared. Where the other two beds used to be you noticed there were now dark navy loveseats with bronze and cream pillows decorating them. Mahogany desks were placed between the beds with empty shelves waiting to be filled with books. The dressers on the other side of the beds complimented the room well, bringing it all together in the circular dorm.

Lisa propped her trunk next to the bed on the other side; she flopped down, staring at the ceiling as she spoke. “They gave us full beds instead of those horrible twin beds.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I was going to do an extension charm if they were twin beds, so I suppose it’s less work now.”

She pulled herself up, resting on her elbows as her eyes narrowed at you. “We could make them queen-sized with all this extra space.”

You returned her smile. “Maybe in the fall, when we go to Hogsmeade, we can pick up a set of sheets for them.”

She giggled, then standing up and stretching her long arms. “There’s a party tonight in the common room.”

You already started unloading your trunk. You placed your textbooks and other supplies neatly in your desk drawers, lining the shelves with volumes of tombs. You pulled out your clothes and uniforms, organizing them into neatly folded piles in the drawers of the dresser. The final addition was a picture of you and your parents on vacation during your fifth year. It was the most recent photo you had of them. It was also the last one. 

A part of you still blamed yourself for their deaths. You tried avoiding it and escaping it as much as you could, but time caught up with you. And with time, death did too. You stared at their smiling faces wishing you could’ve said goodbye. Wishing things were different. You were always hoping.

The brunette witch called your name. Your head whipped around to her, muttering an apology. 

“So, what do you think?” She asked. 

You looked to the side, then back at her in concentration. “About what?”

She sighed. “About Bradley?! Do you think he’ll ask me out this year?” 

Lisa had a pureness about her that you secretly envied. She was a Muggle-born and was too good for this world. She had fled the country last year and was spared the horrors of war. You didn’t spite her for the decision not to fight. You were happy that she would remain untouched by it all. A part of you still envied her. That she could talk so frivolously about which boy she wanted to date this year. It’s not that you hadn’t dated people in the past. It was just easier to remain alone. Lonely, sure, but in the end, it was the more comfortable and logical decision.

You raised your brow in question. Lisa was one of the few who knew. She knew why you were taken and why your class schedule differed from others following your third year. It was true; secrets made people closer.

“I’m not asking you to tell me like _that_. I just want to know if you think he’ll finally make a move… you know? Now that things are better.” 

You shrugged, trying to force a smile. “I guess we’ll see.”

“We should go see _now_.” She stood up, gathering a different set of clothes from her drawer and meticulously placing them on her bed. “What do you think?”

The mindless ‘girl-talk’ numbs the pain slightly. The emptiness you felt throughout the day was dulled down in the presence of someone who treated you like well, like none of it happened. You weren’t fragile to her. But when she made her way to your trunk and started pulling out clothes, that anxiety returned. 

“I’m not going.” You spoke softly to her.

She paid you no mind, continuing to go through the last remaining pieces of your wardrobe. Finally, she pulled out a black cable knit sweater. You grabbed it from her before she could question it and threw it back in the trunk, firmly closing the lid and sitting on it so she couldn’t open it again. The shelves in your mind rattled, a room begging to be unlocked. You closed your eyes, trying to control your breathing as you squeezed your eyes, begging for darkness to swallow you once more in your mind. 

She softly spoke your name before she spoke again, her hand hesitant to reach out in a comforting gesture. “Is it his?”

Lisa was the one who spent most of her summer with you. Taking you to your appointments and escorting you where you needed to go. She was always protective and fiercely loyal. She would’ve made a great Hufflepuff. You told her that once in your fourth year. It was her creativity that brought her to the eagle’s nest. She always was making appointments with the professors, trying to start an art class or club. Looking over at her side of the dormitory, you noted the new canvases were decorating her desk. You knew by the end of the year—if not by the end of the week—there would be sketches and poems littering it.

You opened your eyes, releasing the breath you were holding. You nodded your head. “I can’t go down there and act like everything is fine,” you paused. “I just need some space.”

“Can I hug you?” She asked.

You smiled at her. “Not right now, but maybe later?”

She paused before she spoke again. “Do you want me to stay?”

With a shake of your head, you spoke, “no, you need to get your flirting game on with Bradley!”

You tried for her sake. Tried to be a good friend. It was forced and made your heart clench, but she was all you had left, really. You didn’t want to lose her, so if that meant putting a mask on and pretending like everything was perfect, then that’s what you would do. 

She smiled at you again as a slight blush rose to her cheeks. 

When she left the room, she hesitated at the door. She turned over her shoulder, but you interrupted her before she could speak. “I’ll be fine. Go have fun.” 

In the quiet space of your dorm, you finally let the door that’s been locked for hours unlock itself. You opened the trunk, finding the sweater and your pajamas. After pulling the pajamas on and getting under the sheets, your nightly routine was completed, and you opened the door in your mind as you buried your face in the sweater. Silent tears slid down your cheeks as your mind reminded you of the scent that was once there—nutmeg and amber. 


	3. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be mindful of the dates; as I’ve said before, this is a non-linear timeline. Keep in mind the reader’s age during these flashbacks...tentatively speaking in this timeline she’s born between ‘79-80. We’ll see growth and character development between and during flashbacks. 
> 
> This is the only time I will provide a trigger warning at the beginning of a chapter outside of when the non-con threat occurs. So, please make sure you’ve read and acknowledged the beginning author’s note before the Prologue before you continue reading please look at the tags. 
> 
> TW for this chapter are: death, violence, kidnapping, and implied torture. If something is particularly descriptive, I will provide a warning before the chapter.

**1993 October**

Professor Trelawney was a nutjob. Every year she scared students by predicting someone’s death, and every year she was wrong. It’s not that you doubted that she wasn’t a seer; you were just always inherently suspicious of people who felt the need to boast about their achievements. 

As the students trickled in and settled into their seats, Professor Trelawney motioned to the board, letting each word come forth on the dark panel. You were learning about the different kinds of intuition today. 

_ Clairaudience - the ability to perceive by hearing;  _

_ Clairsentience - the ability to clearly feel energy or clear feeling;  _

_ Claircognizance - the ability for a person to acquire psychic knowledge without knowing how or why he or she knew it;  _

_ Clairvoyance - the ability to gain information about an object, person, location, or physical event through extrasensory perception.” _

It’s not that Divination class bored you; if anything, it gave you anxiety. You weren’t like Lavender and Parvati, who hung on every word that your professor said, but you’d already read your textbook front to back, and still, you struggled to find answers to your questions. Today’s lesson only furthered your questions.

How the irony would feel on this day, particularly when you stayed behind to ask a question and a certain brunet wizard would happen upon you. It was only after Lavender and Parvati left that Professor Trelawney turned her attention to you. Her round eyes switched between your eyes, and she gasped. She grabbed your hands immediately, turning them out over in her palms.

You snatched your hands away, frowning at her, “I just wanted to ask you about what you said about intuition and how one would tell the difference between seeing repetitive behaviour and assuming an outcome versus the clairs of intuition.”

She pulled back, regaining some of her sense of  **eccentrics.** She stared in silence once more, until finally, the words left her mouth. “My child, you are gifted!”

“Being logical and reading others’ patterns of behaviour isn’t a gift; it’s just having observation skills,” you responded.

For some reason, it felt like a lie even as it left your lips. 

She studied you for a moment before shaking her head rapidly.

You took the moment of silence to speak once more, “I mean, one can look at someone’s face or their body language and get a sense of clairsentience, but it’s not the same according to the study of Divination. I suppose I’m just confused on how one would be able to pick up the difference internally. I just think that so much of what you’ve taught today can be categorised as someone who can psychoanalyse behaviour or simply an astute observer of other people.”

You continued your long rant, “It’s not that I doubt the validity of the art of Divination and the study of it, as Hogwarts surely wouldn’t offer it as a class if it wasn’t a valid subject. There’s a Hall of Prophecies in the Ministry of Magic, so seers have existed and continue to exist. I just believe much of what we’ve talked about today in class can be explained by the predictability of people. Humans crave routine and patterns; it keeps away the unknown and sets up people’s expectations. Even when that pattern is obstructed based on how one individual has handled disruption in the past, we can make assumptions based on their patterns of behaviour.”

She seemed frazzled by your rant, and cocked her head to the side as she spoke, “so, my dear, what exactly are you asking?”

You sighed a frustrated huff of breath. “I just want to know the difference between predictability and intuition.”

The door opened before your professor could respond; footsteps could be heard running up the stairs. Your professor paid no mind as she began making her way over to her cluttered desk, murmuring to herself about “clairvoyance” and “gifted.” She seemed to be looking for something.

The footsteps grew louder, and a wave of impatient annoyance washed over you as you turned to see the intruder.

A boy in Slytherin robes with chestnut hair and a tall, lanky frame ran into the classroom. His breath panting as he searched around the desks, absolutely ignoring you and your seemingly abandoned conversation with your professor. Finally, the boy stopped at a table and dropped to his knees, patting the ground until his fingers appeared to snatch up something. He stood up, pulling a chain from his robe pocket, not bothering to look to the front of the classroom. You looked behind you to see the professor still fluttering about, opening and closing desk drawers rapidly. 

You turned back around and watched as the boy attached whatever it was he had picked up off the floor to the chain, smiling softly at it as his shoulders seemed to sag with relief. When his eyes finally looked up, they met the erratic professor’s before they tracked to yours. 

It was like being dropped into the Marianas Trench. As if you were dropped to the furthest depths of the ocean, everything around you sunk below the surface. Lost in the depths, blindly seeing until white flashed before your eyes.

The moment your eyes met a deep sea of blue, your vision blurred, and all you could see were white sheets, a blurry mark on a forearm, and a soft smile on an older version of the boy before you’s face. The images that flashed across your mind weren’t fluid like water, though, more like shards of ice. Yet they’re still warm somehow, more like looking through a painted window pane. Like if someone had a sheet of glass and broke it, then only assembled it with the three largest shards, there’d still be holes in it. That’s what it felt like. Like you were given three pieces of a puzzle and nothing else.

You’re not sure how long it lasted, but when you returned to reality, the boy is stood in front of you with his hands gripping onto your arms as the professor ran somewhat awkwardly to you. Your eyes went wide at the close proximity, and you backed away immediately.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly.

You stood in shocked silence; what _ in the bloody hell just happened? _

“Mr Nott, will you please fetch the Headmaster! It is as I suspected. She’s a seer!” Professor Trelawney merrily said.

Everything that happened next was a blur. From what you could recall after, you were being pulled from the rest of the class. Trelawney beamed with pride at the prospect of a “protégé.” You’d be taking independent lessons with her from now on, and it was only after you begged incessantly that it would be kept a secret from the other students. If others asked, you dropped Divination entirely. It’s not that you were ashamed; you were just confused. You also felt a distinct intuition that Lavender and Parvati would either be jealous of your new lessons or seek you out as some kind of third wheel.

It’s not that you disliked the girls; they just annoyed the ever living hell out of you. You preferred your small group of friends, Lisa and Bradley, the main two. Occasionally you enjoyed a quiet study session with Hermione in Gryffindor, but more often than not, she spent her time with Harry and Ron. 

Most students poked fun at Trelawney, and this class itself. You weren’t about to be at the end of their critiques either. The other reason for keeping it secret was your inevitable fear of failure. What if she taught you all of this, only for none of what she has said to be true? It felt easier to fail in the shadows than in the spotlight.

So, after the promise from one Theodore Nott that he wouldn’t tell the school about your newfound gift, you began weekly private sessions with Professor Trelawney.

* * *

**24 June 1995**

Professor Trelawney was right.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, and Cedric Diggory was dead. Lisa cried at night, and you cried with her. Everyone cried.

A part of you felt guilty, and while you saw many outcomes, they were all too blurry to try and prevent them. Too many people were making decisions and changing them impulsively. If you had mastered clairvoyance by now, maybe you could’ve saved him. 

Professor Trelawney felt guilty too, and over a cup of tea, you watched as your tears fell on tea leaves of dark omens.

* * *

**1995 September**

The low drawl of your professor stopped your movements as you began following the other students out of the potions classroom. It was only the first day, and while you hadn’t made any potions today, you still felt nervous. What could you have possibly done now to annoy the never pleased potions professor?

It’s not that you hated him, and he didn’t hate you either. Well, you didn’t think he did. You weren’t in Slytherin, so he didn’t favour you, and you weren’t a Gryffindor which means he didn’t antagonise you. You were above average, not too exceptional, but just enough to fly underneath his patronising and antagonistic radar.

He addressed you by your last name before continuing, “stay behind,” he said.

Before turning around, you nodded your head in dismissal to Lisa and Bradley. You approached the professor, clutching your potions book to your chest as you were met with his piercing stare. He was nearly impossible to read; your visions of him were always blurry and ever-changing. But now they just held an ominous foreboding, like a shadow was being cast over him. It was strange, to say the least.

His arms remained crossed until the last student left, and with the flick of his wand, the door shut. He turned quickly, his steps echoing across the potions classroom to his desk. He pulled out a book and set it on the table, still quiet as ever. It unnerved you, the silence. 

“What do you know about Occlumency?” He asked.

You shrugged your shoulders, praying silently to say the right thing lest you face his condescending wrath. “It’s a magical way to compartmentalise your mind,” you answered.

He stared down at you a moment for speaking again, “the Headmaster believes you will be in danger and that your mind should be protected.”

“Protected from what, Professor?” You asked quietly.

“Yourself,” he sighed.

“I don’t understand. No one else was supposed to know about-”

“Do you enjoy interrupting me?” He spoke.

You shook your head.

“You will meet with me on Wednesday evenings after dinner. We will meet here, and you will start with this.” He handed you a book when he finished speaking.

You took the book, waiting for a further explanation. When he only stared at you and crossed his arms, he scowled, “you’re dismissed.”

You finished the book in two days. You set up your own practical work in your mind each night before bed. You started with meditation, and you created a meadow in your mind. It was fall, so the leaves were beginning to turn a lovely shade of orange and crimson. A breeze would ruffle the leaves, and a few fell from their trees.

By Wednesday, you built a fence. He broke through it immediately.

The following week, you had built a small house. It was harder for him to open the front door. When he finally broke into the house, he saw a map of rooms with locked doors. When he withdrew from your mind, he studied you for a moment, remaining silent.

“You’re a natural Occlumens,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, an act that did not go unnoticed by the professor. “My parents taught me compartmentalisation at a young age; it’s just practice.”

He scowled, “again, then.”

* * *

**1996**

You can feel it in your bones and in your mind when you fall asleep at night. Something is coming, and you’re quickly losing trust in people. 

You wouldn’t say Professor Snape has softened toward you, but he’s less harsh in his lessons most days. Some days, his invasion of your mind was more painful. It’s like he’s agitated over something. 

When he walked through the rooms, he recommended closing particular doors and leaving them unlocked, planting false memories and unlikely visions at the forefront of your mind. When he stumbled across the room of visions, he looked carefully at the books that now lined the shelves in your mind.

He spent more time looking for a certain blond Slytherin. You hadn’t seen much of him during the year, but what you did see made your mind feel cold, and you immediately locked the book away. You tried talking to Professor Snape about your concerns for Malfoy, but he quickly dismissed any insinuation. He said he was “handling the situation.”

* * *

**30 June 1997**

There were Death Eaters in the castle. There had been one all along. The darkness swept over you, and your guilt only multiplied. What good was it that you had this “gift” if it’s only use was to keep you silent and cause you pain? How much more guilt could your mind hold?

You held Lisa that night as she cried. You told her everything about the lessons and visions. She was scared, being a Muggleborn student. You told her to leave and to not come back until it was safe. No one should blame her for hiding to protect her family, but it would seem that even children were expected to fight. 

_ How ridiculous,  _ you told yourself,  _ they expect us to fight, but we’re children.  _ Children weren’t built for war, but it seems neither side of this war cared. Children or not, you were expected to be soldiers, following each other into death and into the jaws of darkness.

* * *

**1997 July**

Reprieve and relief were temporary. Getting off the train, your reunion with your parents was at least a happy one. Even if happiness didn’t fully encompass the way you felt when they embraced you. It was like a blanket, temporary relief from the cold you almost always felt in your mind.

You had a few quiet weeks with your parents, but you still felt on edge. Continually visiting the library in your mind, sifting through pages of visions. When you found the ones that had already occurred, you catalogued them to a separate shelf, locked them away to keep yourself from opening them.

Being surrounded by fewer people meant you were able to find solace in the quiet. So you enjoyed the quiet mornings while you could. You enjoyed breakfast with your family and curling up with a good book. Even if its only purpose was to drown out the neverending coldness of your mind.

It happened on the twenty-ninth of that month. Someone made a decision, and it would affect you for the rest of your life. Your father sat at the table, reading through the newspaper and frowning at the headlines. Your mother passed you the bowl of pancake batter to be mixed.

The shattering of the glass bowl against the cool tile echoed in the kitchen. Your eyes unseeing as you stared at your father. Quickly, you looked to your mother, and it grew worse. As you looked between them, your smile fell immediately as worry settled into your face. It wasn’t just worrying; it was fear.  _ Danger _ , the red flags flashed in your mind, and you knew you couldn’t stay. 

The scales tipped, and vengeance was coming. This was no longer just squabbles in the Ministry or attacks on Muggles. This was war, and people were dying. As you looked between your parents, you slammed your shields in place, begging for the vision to stop. Your feet were firmly planted on the ground, unable to move as you stared.

Your parents rushed to your side, quietly saying your name, but the vision just kept coming.

_ Screams. A blurred image of green and panting breaths surrounded you. Green lights causing death, then red light followed by eery darkness.  _

Finally, it stopped. Your mother was cupping your face in her hands, worry etched in the wrinkles that surrounded her eyes.

“We need to leave,” you whispered.

Your parents were among the few that knew. They were ecstatic when they were sent an owl in your third year.  _ ‘A seer in the family,’  _ she had said. Oh, how those words would come back to haunt her.

You wasted no time in formulating a plan to get your parents to safety. Others were already working actively against you, it would later seem. You didn’t know who, just that your parents’ lives were at stake. France. France would be safe for them. All you had to do was get your parents away from England. Away from the looming threat of You-Know-Who and his followers.

Your father insisted on waiting and contacting the Order of the Phoenix—but you had no way of contacting them; with Dumbledore gone, you had no one who knew about you. Why would they care about your family when their own and countless others were also in danger? You couldn’t wait around.

The pancake mix stayed on the floor, the kitchen left untouched by anyone as you ran through the house. You weren’t of age yet, but you’d be gone before the Ministry would sniff you out. That was the goal, at least.

Lisa would be able to help, but an owl wouldn’t be fast enough. She mentioned France; you’d find her once you got there. Travelling the Muggle way would seem to be the safest. Unsuspecting that your family would do such a thing, you just needed to get them to understand how dire the countdown was.

With only three bags packed, your mother grabbed a framed photo. She shoved it in her rucksack before looking at you and your father. 

“We’ll take the train. We can use magic to modify our documents, and we should be in France by nightfall,” your father said.

The three of you would never make it to France. You wouldn’t even make it to the train. When you walked through an alley, a forest just on the other side of the building, the cracks of apparition could be heard bouncing off the stone walls. Chaos ensued, and you ran for your life, for their lives even more. Your mother dropped your hand at some point, and you could no longer disapparate out of the violence.

There was screaming. The pounding of your heart echoed in your eardrums and thrummed through your veins. Your feet ached and burned as they carried you away. You had done everything you could to protect them, but it wasn’t enough. You realised that when the hand holding onto you suddenly dropped away after the green jet of light struck him. Another scream crawled its way up to your throat in anguish. It was agony to watch the ones you love die. Someone pulled you, and you kept running. There would be no returning from this. Deep down, you knew it. The neatly organised shelves were rattling then, and it’s tragic that you already knew what you’re about to witness. Sobs wracked your body when you turned to the person pulling you along the winding road. You saw her imminent fate, and it’s your fault. There were too many of them. You had one chance, and its odds were slight. You would be giving yourself up in the place of someone you loved. You were going to take it. 

“You need to go without me,” you shouted at her.

And when she refused to let go of your hand, her fate was sealed. Her hand came up and cupped your cheek as a lone tear spilt down her face. She whispered a quiet goodbye. There was a flash of green, and just like that, she was gone from this world too. Your scream got stuck in your throat when you were hit with a ball of red light **.**

There would be no begging for mercy to faceless masks in dark robes. Your cry for help was lost as the world darkens, and you’re left in the hands of these monsters amongst men. There would be no escape, at least, not for a while and not while you were alone.

A cell. It was cold. You thought you knew what being cold felt like, but this was worse. There was a blanket in the corner. You wrapped it around yourself and leaned against the wall—eyes never leaving the door. You revelled in the temporary warmth.

Minutes passed, maybe even hours. You shivered from the damp coldness of the cell as the stones dug into your body. Time passed slowly, only your mind to keep you at ease.

Your head throbbed, the pain making you dizzy when you tried to stand. Still, you found your way to stand on shaking legs. It felt like your bones were heavy as if they were steel weighing you down. 

The door opened, and a man with a dark beard, peppered with grey hairs, sneered at you. 

“I’ve been told you have the sight.” 

A burning pain followed his statement as the blanket fell from your shoulders and your body writhed against the cold stone of the floor. Your head hit the floor. 

Before the darkness took over, your last thoughts weren’t questioning ‘why.’ It was ‘how.’ How did they know what you could do? There was a select few who knew, and none of them would’ve betrayed you. Then there’s a clawing at the back of your mind that you already knew this answer. That there has always been a part of you that knew. Was it the boy who promised not to tell, or was it the blurry potions master in your mind? Only two still alive who you knew for sure wouldn’t divulge such a well-kept secret. The shades of green began to look more grey as darkness fogged your vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any comments, questions, or concerns?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't see enough fics giving Theo love. So I present to you: me giving Theo love. This fic is un-beta'd, but I do have an editor: Grammarly and my friend Emily. I can't pinpoint an exact upload schedule just yet, but I will let you know if that changes.  
> For anyone concerned about the "non-con" element. The reader nor any character is assaulted. It is a threat that will be said in passing, and I will put a trigger at the beginning of the chapter that will include it.  
> I haven't fan casted anyone in particular for Theo as I think we all see him differently. So, I am making his description based on my own maladaptive daydreams I have with the character.  
> This is purely self-indulgent, but that doesn't mean I'm not open to reviews and critiques! Oh, and yes, the title is the Taylor Swift song. Also, chapter one won't be posted until March 2021. I am posting the prologue now so I can gauge people's interest.


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